Prepare for Battle
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: With the apparent defeat of the Burning Legion, battle-lines are drawn, old hatred reignite, and the heroes of Azeroth prepare for a war that will shake the foundations of the world once again. My response to Battle for Azeroth. Multiple POVs.
1. A Deal With Danger

**(AN: Welcome back yet again! Instead of working on any of the number of stories I've started and haven't finished, I decided to do a short [ten chapters or less] story about what's been happening in Azeroth for our favorite characters.)**

 **(I won't throw everyone into the story, since some of them will be introduced properly in time, but there may be some unfamiliar faces to those who have been reading since Beacon of Hope. As usual, _World of Warcraft_ and _Battle for Azeroth_ are the property of Blizzard, I'm just the unoriginal guy making fics about it.)**

* * *

 **A Deal with Danger**

The Salty Sailor Tavern. Most adventures for Randalmar Cross had begun in this very alehouse. It was in this tavern where he had been press-ganged into the Bloodsail Pirates while most of the heroes of the Alliance and Horde had gone off through the Dark Portal again (he never could quite wrap his head around it, even after he had heard the full story). Mathias Shaw had called in a favor from him to serve beneath Jorach Ravenholt in the Coven of the Uncrowned; though he had little understanding of how he could have been use any use to him. Aside from the Horde, with whom they were not openly at war with - despite their betrayal on the Broken Shore - neither the Burning Legion nor their allies in Suramar could be assuaged by a simple pirate and an ex-soldier, even with a ship and a crew of his own.

Therefore it was that, while the great ones, the leaders of their own secretive and exclusive orders, had gone off to Argus, that mysterious object in the sky that was now nothing more than a bright glowing speck no bigger than a star, everyone else remained behind. Randalmar Cross was just such an 'everyone else', a thoroughly average fellow. He had only a nominal loyalty to the Alliance: the Horde had destroyed his beloved Stormwind during the First War, so they served to keep the monsters at bay (the only good they did, in his opinion). As the Light hadn't kept the Orcs from burning Stormwind to the ground, his god was money: it was the only thing that united both the Horde and the Alliance, their love of gold. Sometimes he wondered how the savages knew the value of it; perhaps the goblins - part-time allies of the Horde and the movers and shakers in seedy towns like Booty Bay - had taught them the value of coin.

Clandestinely he reached down to the small bag that hung upon the belt of his trousers and felt the coins within. There was enough there for a few rounds more, a night's rest in the inn, maybe a few golden minutes with a salty wench if he was lucky and the goblins didn't try to fleece him. Then again, he might merely go sleep on the ship instead. He had grown accustomed to sleeping on the tossing, turning waves of the Great Sea, and though he looked forward to sleeping on solid, unmovable ground tonight, he could deny himself that small comfort (and others); his reasoning being that he might be able to send a few pieces to someone else who worked for Shaw. He sighed in regret: how could he ever hope to explain himself to Florenica? He hadn't seen her since Northrend, and after what had happened at Venture Bay, he doubted that she would have a warm welcome for him, despite their history together.

He reached for his mug and drained it, then looked around for the barmaid to ask for another round. While he was looking about with his one good eye, he spotted a strange sight this side of Kalimdor. Two Night Elven women had entered the tavern and made their way over to a dark corner of the common room. This was quite curious: Night Elves were rarely seen outside of their forests far in the west, and almost never seen in the Eastern Kingdoms, if the stories could be believed. He hadn't met many in his travels, and certainly he hadn't seen any out here. This piqued his curiosity: the Salty Sailor had a not-too-sweet reputation among the underworlds of both factions, and if someone needed to do a backdoor deal with little knowledge from the leaders of either the Horde or the Alliance, they might come here. Perhaps there was something to be learned here, something that could be sold to someone for a hefty profit.

With ears pricked and eye open, he watched the two Night Elves slink into their table in the corner, practically blending into the shadows. The two women were as tall as he was, if not taller, but he couldn't make out many great features. They wore hoods and cloaks that disguised them after a fashion, but he could see the long, green eyebrows peaking out from the corners of the hood of one of them that gave away that she was a Night Elf. From beneath the hoods, he could catch a gleam of glowing eyes, which also gave away their race: they were too slender to be Worgen, too short to be Draenei, too tall to be Elves from Quel'Thalas - high elf, blood elf, dark elf, he couldn't keep up with all their names - or any of the Horde races who also had glowing eyes, therefore they must be Night Elves. One had silver eyes, but the other one he couldn't guess what color her eyes were, though a cold shiver ran down his spine if he looked too long at that one, cloaked and hooded in black.

Randalmar tried to listen to what they were saying, but he could not understand what they spoke. Perhaps they were speaking in their Elvish language, which he knew not and hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. But while he was watching them, his eyes failed to notice another figure approaching his table until he heard the thump. Turning around he saw a tankard being placed on the opposite side of the table, just in front of him.

"I drink alone," Randalmar replied. "So unless you're lookin' for a fight, you can piss off."

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" the stranger replied. Randalmar looked up and saw the short, auburn-haired and mustached visage of none other than the Master of Spies himself.

"What brings you down here, Shaw?" Randalmar asked. "I thought you'd be in Kalimdor, after that big sword got stuck in the desert."

"I'm on the King's business, Cross," Mathias returned, using Randalmar's last name. "Unofficially, that is."

"Unofficially, eh?" Randalmar asked. "So the big-wigs up in Stormwind don't know you've come here?"

"And neither does the Horde," Mathias added. "And that's exactly how it must be. I have a job for you, old man."

"Another job, eh?" Randalmar rolled his eyes. "Knowing how little I was used during this third war with the Burning Legion, I'm not so sure I'm interested in another one of your 'jobs.'"

"The pay is good," Mathias replied. "And you won't have to be dealing with demons; well, at least not _those_ kinds of demons."

Randalmar chuckled. "Now then, Shaw, let's say I was interested in your little job. What would I be doin'?"

Mathias pulled up a chair and sat down across from Randalmar. From the bosom of his coat he pulled out a map, which he stretched on the table.

"I thought you'd be a little more discreet than this," said Randalmar, cocking one eye in suspicion.

"Trust me, I've taken the necessary measures in this matter," Mathias replied. "I've had to bribe the owner to keep out any Horde customers: that goblin charged a high price, but I paid him enough."

"Do you actually trust those floppy-eared gold-mongers?" Randalmar asked.

"I've worked with some of them in my time," Mathias returned. "I trust their greed, and for now, that will suffice." He then gestured for Randalmar to lean in and pointed on the map towards the western continent of Kalimdor.

"Perhaps you've heard about that mineral that's appeared in Silithus after 'that big sword' showed up," Mathias stated.

"I've heard enough," Randalmar replied. "I hear you and the Horde have been desperate to get your hands on it."

"That's correct," Mathias returned. "But, as you can see, there's a problem with this. Most of the mainland of Kalimdor has been under the Horde's control since Garrosh. Because of this, they have a significant advantage in acquiring this...azerite. For us, we usually have to claim the Seething Shore before we can transport any off-continent. After that, we run into even more problems; the Horde navy, pirates, storms, sea monsters."

"So why is this rock so important to you and His Majesty?" Randalmar asked.

"The Explorer's League and SI:7 believe that azerite has some...unique properties, which we wish to study further," Mathias evasively replied. "The main problem, as I said, is acquiring it."

"Can't you just send it north by sea to Darnassus?" Randalmar asked.

"No," Mathias sighed. "High Priestess Whisperwind and Arch-Druid Stormrage have insisted that we not use their city as a staging point for war or weapons of war. Also, it would be impractical to send azerite to Darnassus. For one thing, we'd have to cross the western shore of Kalimdor; Horde scouts on the mainland would see us coming miles away and mobilize their fleet either north or south. Another problem would be how to get it to Stormwind once it's reached the Night Elves' tree."

"You can't just teleport it from Darnassus?" Randalmar asked.

"The Night Elves' hatred of magic would prevent us from placing mages in Darnassus to move the azerite," Shaw continued. "Also, now that the Horde has both the Blood Elves and the Nightbourne, they have a much keener understanding of magic and would detect mass teleportation so near their own lands. Even if we managed to break free from Kalimdor, our ships would have to make it all the way back to Stormwind on their own. The North Sea is dangerous and many ships would be lost if we went around the southern coast of Northrend; going around the northern coast would take too long, and would place us in Horde waters once we approached Quel'thalas. The South Sea is not open to us either: pirates sail those waters, and the Shado-pan refuse to let our ships dock on Pandaria."

"Couldn't you use the goblin ships in these parts?" Randalmar asked, pointing to the eastern coast of Kalimdor. "There's still ships sailing out of Ratchet, right?"

"Yes," Mathias sighed. "But that also isn't very safe. Ratchet's too close to Orgrimmar to be shipping azerite through it; also Gazlowe still maintains strong ties with the Horde, despite his expressed neutrality. We also would be sailing directly into the Maelstrom, which would be suicide. And now that the Nightbourne are part of the Horde, Thalyssra will oppose any of our ships docking on the Broken Isles. No, what we need is someone who can operate outside of the Alliance; someone with a fast ship that knows the South Seas."

"I take it that's where I come in?" Randalmar asked.

"Precisely," Matthias replied.

"Well, as it turns out, I just happen to have a ship," Randalmar stated. "Now, obviously, there will be questions once we start loading this stuff up. And I can't be expected to keep them all quiet when they start asking questions: and believe me, they're gonna ask."

"Get to your point, pirate," Matthias grumbled, crossing his arms.

"I want double," Randalmar stated.

"Your compensation is not negotiable," Matthias returned.

"Come on, now," Randalmar retorted with a sly smirk. "Don't tell me the Explorer's League haven't plundered priceless relics from the Broken Isles: relics that would fetch more than a few gold coins, coins that have gone into King Anduin's pocket."

"Unofficially, I don't have the King's support in this matter," Matthias replied.

"I'm sure you can figure something out, Shaw, you're a clever man," Randalmar said. "You sure greased the palms of those goblins, didn't you?"

"Captain Cross..."

"Like I said," Randalmar replied. "It's all insurance. You know that I don't play favorites when it comes to my crew. Some of them have friends on the Horde, and some of those friends might be willing to pay them for news when we make port."

Matthias Shaw frowned, then let out a disgruntled sigh. "Very well. I'll double your fee. But if you try this sort of thing again, I'll make sure there won't be a safe port for you from here to Kalimdor. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Shaw," Randalmar replied.

* * *

 **(AN: So I was working on music lately, and once that creative train ground back to a halt, I thought I'd come back here and do some more writing.)**

 **(Next chapter, things get personal.)**


	2. Reopening Old Wounds

**(AN: So I've been very frustrated with all of the anti-Night Elf sentiment I've seen among WoW fans lately. Part of the motivation for this story was revealing the truth about what I feel was yet another poor writing decision on Blizzard's part: making the Nightbourne join the Horde.)**

 **(Also, for all of those laughing at Malfurion for what happened in Val'sharah, I will say this. It was done to drag him through the dirt [like Blizzard did with Thrall ever since _Cataclysm_ and Velen on Argus during _Legion_ , because that's the only way they can create a 'good' character, by making everyone else awful], but it also was NOT him at all. Honestly, when the Nightmare Lord's master Il'gynoth ["it's naaa toomah! it's not a tumor, at all"] warns about what Sylvanas will do, everyone from bellular to taliesin says to "take it with a grain of salt", but then when the Nightmare Lord creates phantoms of Malfurion crying for help to torment Tyrande, you all take it as if it's actually him.)**

* * *

 **Reopening Old Wounds**

Many miles away, in the Nighthold of Suramar, atop a lofty spire, three Elf women took their ease above the rest of the world. Two of them were Blood Elves, old companions who had fought and traveled together since the former returned to Quel'thalas from Outland. One was a grim-faced blonde, dressed in armor that was silver and black and damasked with red. Her cloak, which was black and red, hung upon a magically-enchanted hangar that hovered near the teleportation pad at the back of the exclusive tower. The other was only a little shorter, with auburn hair and a smile on her face. Unlike her companion, this one was dressed in red and gold robes; the garb of a magician. Her staff was leaning against the railing of the platform.

The third was not a Blood Elf at all, but one of the Shal'dorei, the Nightbourne of Suramar. She was taller than they were, and her long hair was white; and silvery-white was the glow of her eyes (as opposed to the fel-green glow in the eyes of the two Blood Elves). Her clothes were violet and silver, and some of the pieces were clearly magical in nature. She reclined in a couch opposite from the two younger Elves, lazily moving her left hand like a conductor, conjuring and dispelling at her leisure.

"I'm certainly going to miss this place," the auburn-haired Blood Elf commented fondly.

"I won't," the blonde Elf replied.

"Do you not find this city magnificent beyond words?" the Nightbourne asked with a chuckle.

"Incomparably so," the blonde replied; by now she had learned or guessed the proper etiquette when talking with the arrogant, aloof Shal'dorei.

"Don't mind Learrah," the auburn Elf added. "She's been gloomy like this ever since the Argus campaign came to an end."

"What is there to be gloomy about?" the Nightbourne asked. "We have triumphed over our hated enemy, the Legion. More than that, Suramar has been united once again. Surely this is a time for celebration!"

Learrah did not answer. She had spent enough time around the Shal'dorei to know that there were quite a few who delayed joining the Dusk Lily Rebellion until it was obvious that First Arcanist Thalyssra would come out victorious; more than that, she knew that Saeryi Starshadow, their host, was one of these folk. But she was under strict orders not to say a word about this to the Nightbourne, under pain of death.

The reason for such harsh an order was that the leader of the Blood Knights, Lady Liadrin, had been very vocal about how the Blood Elves should support the Shal'dorei in every conceivable way possible. She had given orders that they were to be treated by the Blood Elves with the same dignity and respect as a Sin'dorei would treat another. This seemed absurd to many, for the Shal'dorei were closer to the hated Night Elves, even down to their silver-glowing eyes and their height. But Learrah Summersisle was a soldier, and had done as she had been commanded, even at the sacrifice of her own soul.

While Learrah was in deep thought, Saeryi sent up a bolt of arcane magic into the air, which burst above their heads and showered them with cool, sparkling shards of magical offal. The auburn-haired Elf giggled and smiled, but Learrah merely brusted them off her ears and began picking them out of her golden hair.

"So what do you plan to do now, Lady Starshadow?" the auburn-haired Elf asked.

"We've been walled up for far too long," Saeryi replied. "We will now take our place as the rightful rulers of the world..." She turned to the others and smiled coyly. "...as part of the Horde, of course. Ah, but I fear that I am thinking too far ahead. For the present, I mean to only explore the world as it is now. There is so much that has changed in the past ten thousand years; although, I doubt that anything out there will compare with the splendor of Suramar." She waved her hand and a glass of sparkling arcwine floated up from the table and hovered before her mouth. She took it with her hand, tasted a small sip from it, then waved it back onto the table.

"Glad she's on our side, don't you think Lanael?" Learrah muttered to the auburn-haired Elf. Lanael shushed her, but said nothing more. She then held out her hand and levitated a plate of mana buns from the table to hover between herself and Learrah. They each took one from the tray and munched quietly on them. After a while, Saeryi took one glance at Learrah and sighed.

"I say, your gloomy demeanor is a detriment to the mood of this party!" the Nightbourne protested. "What ever is the matter? Are the mana buns too sweet?"

"They're just fine," Learrah replied.

"Surely the arcwine isn't too bitter for your tastes," Saeryi stated. "Only the ignorant lowborn take issue with the bitterness of arcwine."

"No, the arcwine is fine," Learrah placated; though, to be honest, it was much more astringent than the non-magical wines she had tasted in Quel'thalas.

"Is not the view exquisite?" Saeryi asked, gesturing outward to the city of Suramar below.

"It's unlike anything I've ever seen," Learrah replied; this, on the other hand, was indeed true. From the Nighthold, one could look - without magical assistance - and see most of the landmarks of the Broken Isles on an exceptionally clear day: north could be seen the foothills of the tallest peak in Highmountain, where the lost tribe of the Tauren lived in peace among the high cliffs. Northeast could be seen the mountains of Stormheim covered in storm-clouds. To the west the forests of Val'sharah loomed like a distant, ominous shadow on the edge of the amber-boughed woods of Ambervale. To the south loomed the spires of the ruined Temple of Elune on the island of Thal'dranath.

"Then why are you so glum?" Saeryi insisted.

"I..." Learrah sighed. "I have this feeling that something else should have happened...when we defeated the Burning Legion. I know you weren't on Argus, but I was. And the things that happened there leave me with deep questions..."

"Oh, tush!" Saeryi dismissed. "Put away such thoughts; now is the time for merriment, not deep thoughts! Leave such thoughts for the philosophers."

Learrah didn't quite enjoy her fears and doubts being dismissed so easily, but she smiled ruefully and took another mana bun from the floating plate.

At that moment, the most curious thing happened. There was a hooting heard and something gray fluttered above their heads just out of reach. It appeared to slow down and, to their surprise, they saw that it was an owl flying overhead in a circular motion.

"Hmm," Lanael mused. "I didn't think owls flew about this early in the day."

"It could be a spy," Learrah said. "Let me take care of this."

"Wait, no!" Saeryi interjected, rising up to a sitting position on her couch. The two younger Elves turned to her in surprise at her uncharacteristic display of concern for the little bird. She chuckled. "I mean, it's probably just an escapee from the Menagerie. No need to spill any blood on our private suite, right? Let me just get rid of this damnable bird."

"Why you?" Lanael asked. "Don't you have servants for that?"

"Well, yes, I do," said Saeryi. "And I intend to give them a sound beating for failing to keep this annoying bird from disrupting our feast; that is why I must depart. Such disciplinary measures can only be entrusted to myself. I won't be long; save a few mana buns for me." She rose to her full height and held out her left hand toward the owl; the bird came to light upon her hand, taking her finger in its claws. With her right hand, she weaved a tapestry of arcane glow and magical inertia that sent her disappearing in a brilliant pop and a shower of magical offal.

Many miles away, within the dark eves of the forest of Val'sharah, there was a burst of arcane magic and Saeryi Starshadow materialized out of thin air. No sooner had she appeared but the owl flew out of her hand, hooting loudly and fluttering madly about the air above her head. Saeryi hissed at the owl, cursing her in the Elvish tongue and commanding her to come back down before it got them both in trouble. A feminine voice spoke in Darnassian from the shadows of the trees, sending Saeryi on the alert. The owl, meanwhile, became quiet and descended from its frantic flight onto a leather-bound arm that appeared from behind a tall tree. Slowly there appeared a Night Elf sentinel, clad in leather armor, who petted and stroked the owl upon her arm, whispering words of comfort to it in Darnassian. Like Saeryi, she was tall, violet-skinned and had silvery-white shining eyes. However, the Nightbourne's skin was a shade closer to blue than violet, and her hair was white, while this Elf had green hair, though her helmet had a long tuft of white hair upon the top.

"You can't keep calling me like this," Saeryi hissed. "We're supposed to be enemies now, don't you remember?"

"That's the reason I've called you," the Night Elf replied. "I am here on the authority of High Priestess Tyrande..."

"The Shal'dorei have nothing more to say to your priestess," Saeryi interjected. "Or perhaps your priestess has things to unsay?"

"Unlike you, I was actually present for the meeting Tyrande had with First Arcanist Thalyssra," said the Night Elf. "That we did not immediately enact our ancient rule against magic-users is a testament to my mistress' tolerance and goodwill towards your people."

"Oh, how condescendingly good of her!" Saeryi sneered. "Tell me, did your beloved priestess show as much goodwill and tolerance to the Highbourne mages who rejoined your ranks during the Cataclysm? Oh yes, I heard all about that little hypocrisy."

"That was a different issue," the Night Elf replied.

"Oh, do tell how it was different," Saeryi chuckled in a condescending manner.

"Many lives were lost in our war with the Lich King," the Elf replied, a hint of anger and sorrow in her voice. "Many Night Elves lost their lives. More than that, we lost many more in the days afterward: Deathwing's devastation of Darkshore, as well as Garrosh's aggression in Ashenvale and on Stonetalon Peak. More also defected with the traitor Fandral Staghelm; we were losing lives daily. We needed the numbers."

"So that's all the Shal'dorei are to you, is that it?" Saeryi asked. "Merely numbers?"

"It's not like that!"

"Then what is it like, Jenassa, since you seem to know so much?"

"We almost lost everything!" Jenassa retorted. At her cry, the owl took off into the trees with a hoot. "The decision to withhold the death penalty from the Highbourne was not taken lightly, and we have regretted it harshly. Perhaps it was for this reason that the goddess allowed Shan'do Stormrage to suffer captivity in Val'sharah, along with the loss of many noble druids and of our ancient ally, the Green Dragon Ysera."

"Quite a spiteful deity," scoffed Saeryi. "It's a good thing we Shal'dorei forsook the folly of moon-worship ages ago."

"Only to enslave yourselves to magic-worship?" Jenassa retorted. "See what that did to you! Your people almost became mongrels from your addiction! And if we're to speak of spite, shall we not also speak of your own First Arcanist? Loath was she to accept instruction from one who had seen firsthand the dangers of arcane magic, so she joined the Horde out of spite for her own people?"

"It was no one's fault but your priestess'," Saeryi replied.

"Dammit, you're willing to let our people die out over one wounded ego!" Jenassa cried out.

Saeryi laughed. "Our people? What madness do you speak of?"

Jenassa paused, her chest heaving in wrath and her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of purple. Slowly she breathed in and out, regaining her composure, before at last speaking. "There was much left unsaid at the meeting between my mistress and the First Arcanist. But that is the reason my mistress has asked for one more chance to repair the bonds of friendship between our peoples."

"Stop wasting words, child," Saeryi condescended; they were close to the same age, in truth. "What did you mean just now about 'letting our people die?'"

Jenassa sighed, looking away so that Saeryi could not see her eyes. "Do you know what I enjoyed most about your city?"

"Hmph, I would think there would be very little a wild Night Elf of the wood would find enjoyable about a cultured city," Saeryi sneered.

"The children," Jenassa said at last. "It's been over ten thousand years since I've seen the face of an Elven child, or heard the laughter of Elven children at play."

"What, they don't have children in your little tree houses in the wilderness?" mocked Saeryi with a smug chuckle. "Or perhaps because you put all your men to sleep for ten thousand years, you never had the chance to know the pleasures of the flesh?"

Jenassa bit her lower lip, her silver eyes shimmering with tears. "There have been no Elf children in the forests of Ashenvale, or in the boughs of Teldrassil; we...cannot have children."

"And your priestess thought to have your men sleep with our women and boost your numbers?" Saeryi asked. "I was right, we were nothing to you but numbers to strengthen your own."

"If you truly believe that the Blood Elves' intentions for your race are noble and honorable, then you are deceived," Jenassa said. "My mistress once offered aid to the Blood Elves in their time of need, as a sign of reconciliation; then, when they turned against their old allies, they fabricated lies about us to deceive themselves, so that we became monsters in the eyes of their people." Jenassa paused, turning to Saeryi with her glowing silver eyes.

"My mistress sought reconciliation with the people of Suramar," she said. "She had hoped that, after the tyranny of Elisande and her ruling class of mages, the people of Suramar would be willing to embrace our ways and join with us..."

"What?" Saeryi chuckled. "Join you in your forests, dancing half-naked beneath the trees, cowering like ignorant imbeciles at the sight of the moon, forsaking our birthright?"

"It is the duty of the Kal'dorei to protect and maintain this world that we destroyed long ago," Jenassa replied. "I would hope that you would feel the same..."

"Protect?" Saeryi returned. "My dear, deluded little elf: we are not the stewards of this world, we are its masters. What you and your priestess offer us is the way of weakness, frailty, and waning: what the Horde offers us is power, waxing, and rule over this world. We have nothing more to say to one another; now begone!"

Jenassa frowned, her eyes lowering in sorrow. "Very well. But I ask that you consider well the choice you made. If you remember nothing else, remember this: I was honest to you here and now about what our intentions were. Pay heed to the ones who seek to change the truth and ask yourself this: what would they have to gain by lying to you?"

With that, the Night Elf silently stepped back into the shadows beneath the trees and was lost to view. Saeryi huffed softly and rolled her eyes, then began the incantation that would take her back to her balcony suite.

* * *

 **(AN: Nothing to report here, since I'm just getting back into the swing of writing in order to keep a little deadline I set for myself.)**

 **(I won't say here and now what I think regarding _Battle for Azeroth_ so far, as that will reveal itself throughout the story [and in later author's notes])**


	3. Death of the Horde

**(AN: And here we have my long-winded "rant" chapter where I voice one of the many reasons why am not enthusiastic about playing _Battle for Azeroth_.)**

* * *

 **Death of the Horde**

The city of Orgrimmar. Below in the Valley of Strength, a mass of people gathered about a raised platform made of wood, iron, and decorated with furs and spikes. Atop that platform there stood the Banshee Queen, the elf Sylvanas Windrunner: behind her upon the platform, always three steps to her left, stood her human lapdog Nathanos Blightcaller. Whether by reason of being a banshee, or because of some magical amplification, or even the nature of the valley in which Orgrimmar was built, her voice carried far and wide throughout the valley.

As she spoke, her words shifted every moment. She spoke of the Horde and how they were being victimized by a callous, indifferent Alliance; she weaved tales of Night Elven treachery, of their druids keeping the Horde away from the lumber-rich forests of the north which - as she said - they deserved. She elaborated on the cruelty of the Sentinels, saying that they would attack homes in the night and slay the children of Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren out of spite for their own barrenness. She told them that King Anduin was weak and passive, and that his rule would be usurped by Genn Greymane, whom she embellished as a tyrant, a monster, no better than the ones that had enslaved them in the internment camps after the Second War.

High above the Valley of Strength, upon one of the rocky cliffs, two figures sat in grim silence. One was a Tauren, clad in the simple garb of a shaman and not the insulated regalia of the Taunka frost-witches. The other bore the figure of an Elf, tall and slender, but clad in a leather cloak the same color of the red clay of Durotar and dressed in red armor. They seemed to be watching the goings on below in sorrow and quiet contemplation; neither saying a word to the other.

Overhead there passed a large thing of bat-like shape. Not uncommon, for many winged wyverns patrolled the skies over Orgrimmar. But this thing was not a wyvern but a bat of immense size. It came to land on the ground next to the Tauren and the Elf, then in a burst of emerald light transformed into a red-haired troll clad in leather and bones. The troll lumbered over to the Tauren, his long, lanky limbs almost dragging along the rocky plateau.

"Ah, I've been expecting you," the Tauren said.

"It been a long time since Winta's Veil, mon," the troll replied. "I figure ya be up here instead o'dat cave in da cliffs in Mul'gore."

"You know me too well, Zen'jamba," sighed the Tauren.

"What you been doin' up here?" Zen'jamba queried.

"Looking down upon the end of the Horde," said the Tauren with grim finality.

"Didn't ya say da same ting when Garrosh became Warchief an' bombed Theramore?" Zen'jamba asked.

"Yes," the Tauren nodded, inclining his large, horned head.

"But we came outta dat mess alive, Gar-mon!" Zen'jamba added, using the Tauren's given name. Gar nodded. He had spent most of his time aiding the Tillers in the Valley of the Four Winds in Pandaria, while Zen'jamba had joined the Darkspear Revolution and was part of the force that had retaken Orgrimmar.

"So why ya be cryin' doom now?" Zen'jamba asked. "We beat back da Legion, didn't we?"

Gar sighed. "I have never trusted the one they called the Betrayer; not since we heard word of him in Outland so many years ago. This...Xe'ra that Highfather Stouthammer spoke with; whatever it was, it was not of An'she. Though I didn't hear her words for myself, I have spoken with those who have: her words were nothing but lies. And now Xe'ra is no more and the Legion's double agent has returned to his master, who dealt a crippling blow to this world from which we might never recover."

"Da sword in Silithus?" Zen'jamba asked.

"The same," Gar replied. "But I fear that that was not even the worst blow dealt to our world in the war with the Burning Legion."

"Den what be?" Zen'jamba asked, walking over to Gar's left and crouching down next to him.

"I spoke earlier of the death of the Horde before us," Gar said, gesturing down into the valley with a large, three-fingered hand. "I was too generous. The Horde died on the Broken Shore."

"How can ya be sayin' dat, mon?" Zen'jamba asked. "We survived!"

"Where was the honor in that survival?" Gar returned. "Do you not remember the words that you spoke when you swore your allegiance to the Horde upon your coming of age? 'Lok'tar ogar', victory or death. We ran away, like cowards!"

"We would'a died if we stayed dare," Zen'jamba said. "Da Legion woudda won."

"Died a hero's death, like the Lion of Stormwind," Gar returned. "On that day, a human embodied the values of the Horde better than the Horde itself."

"Watch what ya be sayin, mon," Zen'jamba whispered. "Da Warchief's eyes an' ears be everywhere."

Gar snorted. "I don't fear _her_ anymore. Let her try and kill me if she wishes."

"She might just do dat," Zen'jamba added.

"I care not," Gar added. "Nor do I believe that the Burning Legion would have won if we all died there. Think about this, druid: the Legion broke the armed might of the Horde _and_ the Alliance on the Broken Shore. Yet the tattered remains of both of our armies, divided after Sylvanas' cowardly actions, were able to hold the Legion at bay long enough for the Kirin Tor to concoct their Legionfall campaign, which saw the end of the Legion's armed might on Azeroth."

"I don't know, mon," Zen'jamba sighed, shaking his tusked, red-mohawked head.

"What I know I have seen with my own eyes," Gar replied. "And what I have seen flies in the face of everything the Horde once stood for! We all took those oaths of honor, yet Sylvanas demanded we swear allegiance to herself...even as Garrosh did before his reign of terror began."

"Garrosh an' Sylvanas be totally different."

"Yes," Gar nodded. "Garrosh was a Mag'har, a pure Orc, one who had been preserved against the fel; he even bore the support of Warchief Thrall until the end. Furthermore he was of the Warsong Clan, a clan of warriors since before our time; and his father was a hero of the Horde. Whether we liked him or not, Garrosh _was_ part of the Horde." Gar looked down into the valley and shook his head as he heard Sylvanas rambling on down below.

"This...Banshee Queen is not one of us. Her heart is elven, and her thoughts and prejudices are those of her first people, not the flock of rotting human sheep at her disposal." He turned to the troll sitting next to him. "The things she has done since joining the Horde prove that neither she nor the Forsaken have any loyalty to the Horde. That incident in Arathi indicates that, even if a small minority of her people are not fully loyal to her, she will not suffer them to exist. Only total loyalty will suffice for this undead elf."

"But she be our Warchief," Zen'jamba said. "Vol'jin made her dat."

"Despite his better judgment," Gar replied. "She is an elf, and her people hunted you trolls and drove you out of your ancient lands, if I am not mistaken. Her people slew Orcs during the Second War, before my time; perhaps even she herself slew Orcs as well. I said it before, when the Blood Elves joined us, and I say it again: allying with an old enemy for the sake of convenience does not make them an ally."

"But 'as she not proven herself to care for da Horde?" Zen'jamba asked. "She kept us togedda after da Broken Shore."

"Care for the Horde?" Gar laughed. "Her first action was the expedition to Stormheim, for her own personal agenda. Even now, she screeches her own agenda, playing that it is in the interest of the Horde. I ask you, Zen'jamba, when have our people ever had aught against the Night Elves?"

"Dey be keepin' da lumber from Ashenvale for demselves!" Zen'jamba replied, somewhat hesitantly.

"You don't believe a word of that and you know it," Gar stated, cutting to the quick. "As a druid, one with a deeper connection to the spirits of the wild than even me, you know of the devastation that was brought to those forests by Garrosh. Where was the need in any of that? I ask you again, what have our people against the Night Elves? My people stayed in the prairies and savannas, leaving the Night Elves to their forests. The Orcs invaded their forests and slaughtered Cenarius, their demi-god, during the Third War. If anything, the Night Elves have reason to hate the Horde; yet they remain in their forests and do not hunt us or enact a blood-price for the death of Cenarius, though it would be their right to do so."

"But she only be carin' about da future o'da Horde," Zen'jamba defended, once again with faltering enthusiasm. Almost it seemed as if his heart was not behind his words, but that he only hoped that there was some truth in what he said.

"Like Krom'gar?" Gar asked. "His execution was a travesty, as surely as was the cover-up after the Wrathgate."

"What do ya mean, mon?" Zen'jamba incredulously asked. "Dat dreadlord Varimathras be behind da Wrathgate; everyone know dat. An' Krom'gar died for actin' against da Warchief's orders!"

Gar chuckled grimly. "Do you still believe what you've been told? Sylvanas had been working on the plague for years before the expeditions to Northrend; I know, because I helped the Royal Apothecary Society in their efforts in Tirisfal. Those deaths are on my head, and I will have to answer for them before my ancestors on the day that I am gathered to them. More than that, she went right back to her cruel, blackguard ways almost immediately after she had been 'cleared.' Surely a scrupulous person would have at least feigned innocence for a given amount of time in order to draw off suspicion. Also, she used the same plague in Stormheim, even after its use had been outlawed. There are more things which lead the trail of bodies back to the Wrathgate, but, as you said, there are eyes and ears about these cliffs, and not all of them are friendly.

"As for Krom'gar, I know for a fact that his execution was a travesty. He tried to do the same thing to me in Northrend."

"Come off it, mon..." the troll interjected. He had heard the story of what happened in the Warsong Hold from his lady-love Tel'jirza, who had been present at those events and privy to them. Though he believed what she said was true, he didn't believe that Garrosh was duplicitous.

"Think, Zen'jamba!" Gar replied. "Within a few weeks of Cairne Bloodhoof's death, an entire conclave of Tauren druids are bombed by an Orc overlord under Garrosh's command; then, in less than a day, the Horde begins their march into Ashenvale and Azshara, clear-cutting large swaths of trees in their path."

"Me be not followin' ya, mon," Zen'jamba said, stroking his bare chin.

"Who else would have objected to the clear-cutting of forests if not the druids?" Gar asked. "But Garrosh could not silence them according to his liking; so many Tauren druids so near to Mul'gore, and with rumors spreading of his mistreatment of non-Orcs in Orgrimmar, it would have roused my people's anger against him. And, by his own admission, the Tauren were capable warriors; perhaps even stronger than himself. Therefore, rather than kill the druids himself, he lets one of his underlings take the fall for it, while he struts about his pride and utters empty words about honor."

"What dis gotta do wit da current Warchief?" Zen'jamba asked.

"Sylvanas is no different than Garrosh," Gar replied. "Having once gotten our oaths of obedience to her, she will use that to bind us to her and carry out her own private war upon the Night Elves."

"Not merely the Kal'dorei," the vermilion-clad elf woman spoke up finally. "Her enemy is life itself. She had the chance to seek a cure for her undeath and she turned away from the Light. Now she revels in darkness, spreading disease and suffering to all unhappy ones that fall under her shadow. She has become the very thing she fought against; even as the one who slew her." She turned to the troll and Tauren. "As defenders of life and guardians of the elements, it falls to you to oppose this Banshee Queen."

"But she be our leada!" Zen'jamba replied.

"Therein lies the tale, my friend," Gar said, turning to the troll. "Where do our oaths end? Do we honor them no matter what, even at the cost of our own honor...if not more? Or do we realize that honor does not bind us to blindly obey the dishonorable?"

"Then what will ya do, mon?" Zen'jamba asked. "Run away? Sit in ya cave an' do notin'? Dat be not like da Horde eithah!"

Gar sighed, shaking his head again. "I have nothing to prove to anyone; not anymore. The spirits of my ancestors know of my battles, and my trials, and how I have carried myself through them. The greatest heroes of Azeroth, the Dragon Aspects, and the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance know how I have carried myself in peace and in war." He chuckled grimly.

"Besides," Gar continued. "I have born the scorn of the Horde for many years: what's a little more to me, when I know in my heart that I have acted with wisdom and honor?"

Zen'jamba sighed. "If dat be what'cha choose, mon."

Gar rose up from where he sat and turned around to face the crouching troll. "I want you to come with me."

"Nah, mon," said Zen'jamba, shaking his head and waving his three-fingered hand in a dismissive gesture. "Me place be here, wit da Horde; as be ya place too, mon."

Gar sighed. "Is there nothing more I can say?"

"I tink not," said the troll in response.

"The Horde is no more," Gar replied. "What we stood for died on the Broken Shore."

"Maybe so," Zen'jamba sighed. "But dare be someting dat we still stand for; sometin' I can believe in."

"And what is that?" Gar asked.

"Da right ta live," the troll replied.

"And you think that Sylvanas defends your right to live, is that it?" Gar chuckled grimly. "If you truly believe that, then I've wasted my time with you."

"Look, mon," Zen'jamba interjected. "I get ya. She be not my first choice. We 'ave a long 'istory wit de elves, an' none o'it be good. But we can put dat aside an' fight togeddah for sometin' important."

Gar sighed; there was no getting through to his old friend. "The Forsaken, the Blood Elves, and these magically-addicted Nightbourne; they have their own goals, which have nothing to do with what is good for the rest of the Horde. We are allied with them only through convenience: such an allegiance is fragile at best, as we saw with Garrosh. Furthermore, I remember when Sylvanas gave us the ultimatum after the Broken Shore: swear allegiance to her or die." He looked back down at the Banshee Queen carrying on about the evils of the Alliance and how the Horde deserved nebulous things such as "the right to exist" and "more room to live."

"We are nothing to her but pawns," Gar said. "She cares nothing for our lives, or whether we have the right to live. And for that reason, I leave." He turned to the red-haired elf. "Era, are you ready?"

"Yes, mortal," the elf woman replied.

The two began to walk away from the edge of the cliff. Zen'jamba bore a flabbergasted expression on his long face.

"So dat be it, den?" he asked. "Ya jus' be givin' up like dat?"

"Give up?" Gar chuckled. "No. I will return to the pastures of my youth, and commune with the spirits: in these troubled times, it is best to seek out the counsel of those wiser than you. When the children of the Earth-Mother are in danger, I will rise up to defend them. But I will never be a pawn of that banshee." He turned back to the troll.

"I leave you in friendship, Zen'jamba, with no ill-will toward you for your decision. But mark my words: a day of reckoning is coming for the Horde, when those who fight for honor must choose between duty and obedience. I pray that you will learn the difference...before your soul is darkened by the evil Sylvanas intends." He pounded his chest with his three-fingered fist. "Ancestors watch over you."

The elf that Gar had called Era transformed into a great red drake with curled horns upon her head. With some difficulty, the large Tauren climbed atop her neck, just in front of her wings. There was no triumphant roar, only a dull whooshing as the blazing drake's great wings beat the air and sent her and her passenger up and away into the sky. Zen'jamba watched forlornly as the drake sailed off southwestward, towards the direction of the verdant grasslands of Mul'gore.

"Spirits be wit ya, mon." Zen'jamba sighed, as the drake slowly vanished from view.

* * *

 **(AN: The full story of my theory on the Wrathgate will have to wait until _The Frozen North_ gets finished [or at least until the second half is released]. But in short, the idea of the Broken Shore was a good one, but how it ended up was awful. Also, like with the Disney Star Wars movies, it is a sign of bad-writing when the writer forces characters to act a certain way for the sake of the plot: which is exactly what happened with the Horde retreating at the Broken Shore, the Burning Legion pulling their punches afterwards, and Vol'jin making Sylvanas warchief of the Horde against his own better judgment!)**

 **(This is important to me because it was the story and the lore of _Warcraft III_ which I got into, so to see everything messed up for the sake of, well, I think you can guess why they did it, really makes me disappointed.)**


	4. Defending Our Right to Kill

**(AN: Yay, one review!)**

 **(I do feel that the Night Elves get the short end of the stick routinely in WoW lore, and that the decision to throw the Nightbourne in with the Horde was sort of random and the 'explanation' was very mean-spirited. I mean, the whole "muh Highbourne" was thrown in there by the fans and never addressed by Blizzard [then again, a lot of old lore was ignored in _Legion_ and afterwards to make things fit their narrative]. Although, to be fair, they're not my favorite Alliance race [that honor goes to the Dwarves: seriously, why don't male Night Elves have beards as long as the Dwarves do?])**

* * *

 **Defending Our Right to Kill**

Hannah Mardenholde loathed Orgrimmar. Aside from the heat of the desert in which it was built, it was little more than a collection of mud-huts and lean-twos. In life, she had known civilization; and the crude tents and hovels of the savage Orcs were not dignified in any way. As she heard more than she spoke, and rarely spoke to her prey - both of the Horde and the Alliance - she had often heard what the more foppish members of the Horde were saying. The overly-sophisticated Blood Elves and Nightbourne got along more than with the other members of the Horde, and they spoke a form of Common that she understood: it wasn't rare to hear a Nightbourne say to a Blood Elf, and vice versa, that Orgrimmar should be torn down and rebuilt in the image of Silvermoon or Suramar.

For her part, Hannah wished to see Orgrimmar burn to the ground as well; and not be rebuilt. If anything existed, she longed to see it broken, damaged, and remade in the image of death, chaos, and disorder. However, for the present, the Dark Lady was in the city of the Orcs, giving a speech. As an agent of the Dark Lady, she was at Sylvanas' beck and call and went where she ordered; even to this pig's sty of a city. So she held her peace and waited in the darkness of Grommash Hold - named for some Orcish hero or another from the Third War: it didn't matter to her, all Orc names sounded the same, and they were all the same to her, nothing but brutes and barbarians.

The sound of applause was heard outside. Moments later, the Dark Lady appeared; next to her was Nathanos the Blightcaller. Hannah appreciated that there was a human as the Dark Lady's second-in-command; it gave her a sense of belonging, as the Elves had forsaken the Alliance by the time of the Third War and the Dark Lady had to give the appearance of egalitarianism to the Forsaken, the majority of whom were humans in life. But she also hated him: he was a man and held the place which Hannah believed belonged rightly to her. Once they were inside the hold, Sylvanas gave the order that the doors were to be shut, then she waved Hannah in with her to the throne room.

"That was an enthralling speech, my lady," Nathanos said, every word dripping with sycophancy.

"Of course," Sylvanas replied.

"Do you think they believed it?" replied the Blightcaller.

"They should," quoth Sylvanas. "If we can convince them that my plight is their own, they will throw themselves into my service. Their self-righteous honor codes will bind them to me, insuring that they will not act against my orders."

"As you say, My Queen," Nathanos bowed.

"Mardenholde," Sylvanas turned towards her servant. "This is where you come in."

"What are your orders, My Lady?" Mardenholde asked, bowing before Sylvanas.

"I need you to run interference for our war effort," said the Banshee Queen. "In one month's time, we will begin our war against the Alliance." She walked over to a table, upon which a leather map of Kalimdor was drawn. One gloved finger pointed to one of the two islands in the northwestern sea. "If Darnassus falls, I will control all of Kalimdor, in addition to all of Lordaeron. The Alliance will be broken, and there will be no one left to help the little Lion when we make our final strike at the heart of Stormwind."

"It will be difficult to create a fitting cause for attacking Darnassus," Nathanos said. "The Night Elves are not regularly active in Alliance politics, choosing rather to hide in their forests. It won't be easy to appear justified in this endeavor."

"A queen needs no justification," Sylvanas replied with a smug smile on her face. "But, surely, there will be some important figures in the Horde whose scruples must be satisfied. I will draw up reports of the Night Elves stockpiling azerite in their trees. That should convince them that the Alliance is planning something, and that our actions are retaliatory in nature."

"Brilliant," Nathanos returned.

"Yes, it is," Sylvanas stated. "Now, Blightcaller, I want you to make sure the war machine of the Horde is ready. Make certain it is done in secret: if the Alliance gets wind of our efforts, all will be lost." Nathanos bowed before Sylvanas and walked out of the hold. Sylvanas then turned to Mardenholde.

"Your wish, My Lady?" Mardenholde asked.

"What happened at Arathi has proven that we must remain vigilant," Sylvanas told her. "There are those in the Horde who do not yet bow to me. They must be dealt with, especially in what I am planning."

"The capture of Darnassus?" Mardenholde replied.

"Its destruction," Sylvanas stated. She then turned and stared toward the northwestern wall.

"Milady," Mardenhole said. "What do you hope to accomplish by this act?"

"Several things, in fact," Sylvanas replied, not turning away from the wall. "For myself, for the Forsaken, and even for the Horde. I am an Elf, and we Elves remember when we were exiled by the Night Elves for practicing magic. The Nightbourne appreciate that struggle as well. It will be good to see our ancient enemy brought down to our level. Furthermore, it was a human who destroyed our homeland: it is only fitting to destroy one of theirs in return." She turned about to Mardenholde.

"But most important of all, the destruction of Teldrassil will be our first strike against the mortal world. The world of the living cannot comfort us, Mardenholde; you know this to be true, don't you?" Mardenholde nodded. It was something she had felt every moment in her existence of undeath; it had fueled her desire to kill and thus made her an efficient assassin and agent for the Banshee Queen.

"The Night Elves keep and tend life; their World Tree is a symbol of that. By destroying their tree, and killing their leaders, we can create a whole new world where the dead can be free to do as we want, and kill whoever we wish without fear of reprisal from the living. That's the problem with the living. They have so much to be afraid of, thinking they have something to answer for at the end of their lives." She scoffed. "At least they get to _have_ an end to their lives. And with such things occupying their minds all the time, they make rules and laws in order to save themselves and cling to their pathetic little lives for as long as they can. Such laws not only deny themselves, but they limit those who must act from doing what we must." She gestured to herself.

"You don't need to preach to me, milady," Mardenholde replied. "You know that I have been loyal to you all of these years."

"Good," Sylvanas stated. "I would hate to see you falter even as I reach out to seize victory, and have you killed for it."

"What interference will I be running for you?" Mardenholde asked.

"I want long-range demolishers prepared for the burning of Teldrassil," Sylvanas said. "Along with incendiary shots. You will make sure that our goblin mechanics have these built in short order and secrecy. If they ask questions, bribe them. If they persist, silence them...permanently."

"That shouldn't take long," Mardenholde replied.

"There's more," Sylvanas added. "While I'm certain you will have your hands full keeping the more...scrupulous members of the Horde in line, we can't let the Alliance catch on to our plans either."

"What do you have in mind, milady?" Mardenholde asked.

"Create a paper trail leading to the Wetlands," Sylvanas ordered. "We'll let the Alliance think we're attacking the Eastern Kingdoms from the north. Do what must be done; if you need any resources, ask my Dark Rangers. Tell them that you are on the Dark Lady's business."

Mardenholde nodded wordlessly. She knew the Dark Rangers; undead Elves like Sylvanas herself. As she was often on the Dark Lady's business, the Dark Rangers knew her by name and wouldn't give her the usual treatment reserved for busybodies and nosy ones prying into the business of the Forsaken. With her orders given, she bowed to Sylvanas and left Grommash Hold: the less time she spent in Orgrimmar, the better. The 'honorable' Horde of Thrall - the weaker Horde, according to her and the many in the Horde today who worshiped the late Garrosh Hellscream - had abandoned the rites of savagery that she, when living, had heard about in the years of old. As such, they didn't approve of cannibalism; this did not sit well with Mardenholde.

She longed to be back in the field, killing indiscriminately. Soon she would be, she knew. Sylvanas had played her part well after the setback at the Wrathgate, and had so convinced the leaders of the Horde that she was loyal and cared only for the safeguarding of her people's right to exist. But the events at Angrathar, Silverpine, Stormheim, and Arathi had proven one thing to the keen-eyed; one thing which made Hannah Mardenholde and the rest of the Forsaken grin with wolfish delight. The time they had been planning for so many years was at last coming, and this time the Dragon Aspects wouldn't be there to stop them: Malygos, Neltharion and Ysera were dead, Nozdormu was missing - many believed powerless in light of the incident with the Iron Horde - and Alexstrasza hadn't been seen since the conclusion of the Cataclysm. There would be no repetition of the Wrathgate, not this time; no one would deny the Forsaken the right to kill who they wished, not with the full might and blind loyalty of the Horde behind them.

* * *

Thousands of miles away to the east, on the Broken Isles, the new leader of the Nightbourne, First Arcanist Thalyssra, was pouring over several devices which she had enchanted and were floating above her head. Among them were several maps of the continents of Azeroth after the Sundering: despite the evidence, she could not seriously believe that magic had shattered the world. She never liked to think about the shape of the world as it was; for it brought back to her mind her meeting with Tyrande Whisperwind, the High Priestess of Elune and leader of the Night Elves. The Nightbourne were kin to them, separated only by the vast expanse of years since the Sundering. And every time she considered the Sundering, she was reminded of what Tyrande had told her about the end of the War of the Ancients, the end which the people of Suramar had never seen since cloistering themselves off from the rest of Night Elven society.

At that moment, there was a pop that disturbed her from her thoughts. Turning about, she saw Saeryi Starshadow standing in the telemancy room of Shal'aran, where she herself had been busy with her reading. It was not unusual for Nightbourne to be popping in and out of this place: many refugees lived here, having been displaced since the Dusk Lily Rebellion, and those in the city were prone to visit those in Shal'aran. But Thalyssra knew Saeryi; the elite of Suramar all knew each other from the many gatherings they attended to preen and display their magical prowess, social status, and wealth. Lady Starshadow was initially apathetic towards the Dusk Lily Rebellion, as many of the nobility had been. In fact, it was not until the champions of the Kirin Tor were knocking on the doors of the Nighthold that the less obstinate of the Nightbourne elite threw down their arms and joined the rebellion: Saeryi had been one such. As such, Thalyssra held her in quiet disdain; she wasn't one of "us" as Thalyssra saw it, but she tolerated her presence and her magical prowess just the same.

"First Arcanist," Saeryi said to Thalyssra.

"Lady Starshadow," Thalyssra returned with a curt nod. "I thought you were showing Blood Elven tourists about our great city."

"So I was," Saeryi replied. "But, as it turned out, a message came to my private boudoir and, having nothing better to do, I answered it."

"Oh?" Thalyssra asked, without a great show of interest.

"It was from the Kal'dorei," Saeryi stated.

"Is that so?" Thalyssra asked, turning about. "And did you kill the messenger?"

"Not exactly," Saeryi replied.

"'Exactly not', you mean," Thalyssra replied. "They are our enemies, and we have orders to kill them on sight."

"The messenger came in peace," Saeryi stated. "I humored them with their petition, being too bored to bother killing them."

"And who gave you permission to humor the petition of our enemies?" Thalyssra asked. "Are you a diplomat?"

"No...not exactly," Saeryi replied. "But I act as I will, as I always have."

"No!" Thalyssra sternly stated. "You answer to me, and you answer to Warchief Windrunner. You can't be fraternizing with the enemy, not after what they did to us."

"What did they do to us?" Saeryi asked. "I mean, I heard about the meeting. But is your ego so fragile that one insult will turn them into our enemies?"

"My ego?!" Thalyssra roared, turning about angrily towards Lady Starshadow. There was a collective gasp of shock and surprise and the First Arcanist caught herself; she realized that all the other refugees in Shal'aran were staring at her. With a wave of her hand, she cast a bubble shield around Lady Starshadow and herself, which kept them obscured from view and muffled from hearing.

"How dare you accuse me of ego!" Thalyssra angrily retorted, once they were both obscured and muffled. "I care for the fate of the Shal'dorei. The Alliance, to which those arrogant Kal'dorei belong, only helped the rebellion for their own selfish ends."

"Don't take that tone with me, First Arcanist!" Saeryi replied, one hand upon her breast in shock and offense. "I'm on your side here. I don't trust those rustics with their quaint nature worship any more than you do. But if you care so for the fate of our people, then perhaps you would appreciate the real reason why the Kal'dorei aided us."

"Hmph!" scoffed Thalyssra. "And what lies did this Kal'dorei tell you?"

"That the Kal'dorei cannot reproduce," Saeryi began. "That it is because of their infertility that they wished to make friendship with us."

"Huh, is that all?" Thalyssra chuckled. "Priestess Whisperwind would have us become whores for her people to increase their numbers? How very altruistic."

"I admit, it was very self-serving," Saeryi commented.

By now, Thalyssra's anger had subsided and she was somewhat calmer. She looked down at the floor, took a breath, and looked back at the woman before her.

"Lady Starshadow...Saeryi," Thalyssra began. " If you ever find yourself thrust into a position of leadership, you will understand that sometimes, for the greater good, certain points of view have to be...presented in an altered form. The Shal'dorei would not be able to understand why we are enemies with half of those who had helped us." She sighed.

"Were I in Tyrande's position, and our people were the ones infertile and in danger of extinction, I doubt not that I would jump at the chance to reconnect with my ancient kindred and save my people." She looked Saeryi in her silvery glowing eyes. "But if word got out that the Alliance were equally as helpful to us as the Horde, it would cause division among our people. It is better to give our people a lie that will bring us together than be torn apart by the truth."

"And the Kal'dorei?" Saeryi asked.

"If Priestess Tyrande had wanted our men and women to procreate with so badly," Thalyssra replied. "She should have been more courteous to us and allowed us to practice magic, as is our birthright. If she is so close-minded as to forbid us magic, then she and her people deserve whatever happens to them from rejecting us." The First Arcanist held up her hand. "I know this sounds harsh, but it must be done. If Warchief Windrunner has taught me anything, it is that a leader must be prepared to do what they must for their people, no matter whose feelings are hurt."

Saeryi nodded, but in her mind she remembered exactly what Jenassa had told her. Right off the bat, the First Arcanist had told her that Jenassa's words had been lies. More than that, the words she said echoed what Grand Magistrix Elisande had told the other Nightbourne elite during the waning days of the rebellion; that a leader had to do what must be done for the greater good, no matter who was hurt as a result. The needs of the few outweighing the needs of the many. But what Thalyssra was talking about wasn't just hurt feelings, but the potential extermination of an entire people. As if realizing her concern, Thalyssra spoke to her.

"They're not our kindred anymore," she told Saeryi. "They are our enemies. Now I don't want to hear of any more private rendezvous with them. Is that understood?"

Saeryi made a snorting sound, then added a curt: "Yes...First Arcanist." She then turned about and made her way back to the telemancy platform.

* * *

Back at the boudoir, Saeryi rematerialized where her guests were waiting for her. Lanael was lazily gesturing with her long, slender fore-finger, conducting a ballet of magical waves and sparkles. Learrah, meanwhile, was leaning against the guard-rail while looking wistfully up into the sky. Saeryi sighed when she saw the blonde elf with a grim, sorrowful expression on her face.

"And why are you so glum?" the Nightbourne asked.

"You're back!" Lanael exclaimed. "I hope you gave your servant a sound beating for that disturbance."

"Hmm?" Saeryi asked, then let out a chuckle, hidden daintily behind her hand. "Oh, yes, of course. It won't be happening again." She turned back to Learrah. "And what of you, Lady Summersisle?"

"I was just thinking," Learrah answered; her voice was twinged with sorrow.

"Oh?" Saeryi asked. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"

"She's been gloomy, like some pathetic ren'dorei!" Lanael retorted. "You know, you really have no reason to be this gloomy. You're really bringing me down; maybe Lady Starshadow and I should just go someplace where the company is more agreeable." Learrah made no answer.

"I concur," Saeryi stated. "This gloominess is bringing me down. Come, Emberwing, let's find something more enjoyable to do."

At this moment, Learrah turned about from the rail and looked at them both for a solid minute.

"Don't you ever ask yourself why?" she asked.

"Why what?" Saeryi asked in return. "Don't play at words with me; that's what ignorant peasants do when they want to waste time sounding more important than they are."

"You weren't fighting throughout this whole war, Lady Starshadow," Learrah answered. "You didn't see all the things we saw."

"So what?" Saeryi asked.

"Ugh, not this again," Lanael bemoaned.

"You weren't at the Broken Shore, neither of you were," Learrah replied, a grim look on her face. "So many dead...and we survived...why?"

"Don't listen to her, Lady Starshadow," Lanael said to Saeryi. "She just has survivor's guilt. Ignore her."

"You don't understand," Learrah retorted. "You weren't with the Argent Crusade." She paused, looking down at her hands. The Argent Crusade, ever the bastion of defense and justice in Azeroth, formed from the ashes of the Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand, fought the most unholy enemies that threatened Azeroth. They were instrumental in the downfall of the Lich King, and had kept the peace in the Plaguelands against the Forsaken and the remnants of the Scourge in northern Lordaeron. When the Burning Legion invaded Azeroth again, they were the first ones to the Broken Shore; they were also the first ones to fall, and their order was almost entirely decimated, along with the martyred Tirion Fordring.

"You're upset that you didn't die with the others?" Saeryi asked Learrah. "Why, that's a very unhappy attitude! Why spurn the life you have?"

"Of all people, I would have thought you'd understand," Learrah added, turning to the taller Nightbourne. "Even on a small level."

"And why should I understand?"

"Your people did plenty of wicked deeds during the war," Learrah replied. "By the Sunwell, you allied with the Burning Legion!"

"So did we," Lanael pointed out. "In fact, you were with Prince Kael'thas in Outland yourself. So who are you to judge?"

"Because I know the cost of those actions!" Learrah retorted. "And I'm the only one who regretted those actions. Never once have I heard anyone say a single word of remorse, or sorrow, for what we did: even Lady Liadrin preens about, that we have some power over the Light because we stole it rather than asked for it!"

"We did what we had to in order to survive," Saeryi said. "I doubt not that the First Arcanist would have made the same choices that Elisande made, were she in her position."

"We made the same excuses for allying with the demons," Learrah replied. She sighed. "I-I...I was given a second chance after that. And now I...I don't know if it was worth it. What purpose do I have in living as I am, still marred by the fel, when so many others have died to destroy this?"

"Tosh!" Saeryi dismissed, waving her long-fingered hand. "I am not responsible for your guilt, nor do we deserve to be brought down by your petulant whining."

"She's right," Lanael stated. "You're starting to sound like..." Learrah's emerald eyes turned towards Lanael.

"Like a what?" she asked.

"Like a human!" Lanael shouted.

"Are you serious?" Learrah exclaimed. "They never acted this way; it was _we_ who behaved this way to them."

"It's our right," Lanael retorted. "We Elves are the higher race: a race of kings and queens. Shall we not conduct ourselves accordingly?"

Learrah's hands curled into fists, but she made no move to strike. Instead, she frowned, biting her tongue, and turned to walk over to the teleportation platform.

"And what will you do, then?" Lanael asked. "Mope around Azeroth, feeling sorry for yourself?"

Learrah said nothing, for her eyes were welling with tears. She didn't know what she would do, but she knew where she was going. There must be a mage in Dalaran who would be willing to create a portal to Quel'thalas. She had questions to ask, and it seemed that there was no better place to begin looking for answers than where it all began. Where the redemption offered to her race had long been denied.

She paused for a moment before stepping onto the platform and looked over her shoulder. Saeryi and Lanael were returning to their tables and their arcwine and their magic tricks. While she knew Saeryi very little, as she wasn't engaged in many activities in Suramar during her service to the reformed Order of the Silver Hand, she had a long history with Lanael. They had rejoined after the incident at the Sunwell, when Learrah returned to Azeroth, and together they braved the snows of Northrend. They had fought in Garrosh's Horde together and had been part of the Horde's efforts on Draenor of the past together; only the return of the Burning Legion and her commitment to the Argent Crusade brought them apart. This was Learrah's best friend, and now as she was preparing to leave on her voyage back to Quel'thalas, she felt that this would be the last day of their friendship.

Learrah had noted that Lanael had grown bolder ever since Sylvanas had become Warchief. More and more she would speak of the same things she heard from the mouth of the Banshee Queen. And while Learrah appreciated the Dark Lady in that she was an Elf like her, some of the things she said were things with which she simply could not agree. More and more with each day, she had this nagging feeling in her heart that she was, once again, walking off the edge of a great precipice into oblivion.

* * *

 **(AN: Eh, the chapter title doesn't fit the third part of the story, but I felt that it was kind of short initially and that tacked-on ending shows at least some friction on what is going on in the Horde, as well as a more sympathetic Horde character [already have two, so why not three?]. The title I was sold on, despite the third act, as I view Sylvanas' claims that she is "defending the Horde's right to live" so nebulous and vague, they** ** **might as well be " _lebensraum_ "; and the current leadership of the Alliance isn't actively trying to exterminate the Horde [unlike some members of the Horde I could name], so it's just a made-up casus beli for her war against the living.**)**

 **(Okay, let's talk propaganda. Because every time I get that quest for Horde allied races and have to read Sylvanas congratulating herself on her "selfless leadership" of the Horde, my eyes roll and my hand meets my face so hard! Also that is the reason, at least my reason, for why Thalyssra was spreading misinformation about the Alliance members who aided the Dusk Lily rebellion.)**

 **(I also revealed a LOT about Mardenholde in this chapter: a bit uncharacteristic, since she's supposed to be a bit of an enigma and revealed bit by bit throughout my Warcraft cycle, but this story is being told out of order. I felt, when writing this, that I was being vague and not giving any details that weren't, in my view, common to most of the Forsaken [as well as the Horde player-base with that comment of "lol, burn down the huts of Orgrimmar and rebuild it in the image of Silvermoon"]. As usual, I had Pierra Coppola in mind when I wrote Sylvanas' lines and NOT PJ Matheson [Warcraft III for the win!])**


End file.
